


That Bare Bottom Feeling

by SailorChibi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega!John, Rimming, aka diapers for some of us, light dub con due to hormones, nappies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since bonding with Sherlock, John produces so much lube before a heat that he needs to wear a nappy. He's avoided letting Sherlock see him that way so far because he hates the way it makes him feel. What he doesn't know is that it really turns Sherlock on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Bare Bottom Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Этот неловкий момент](https://archiveofourown.org/works/547984) by [bonaqua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonaqua/pseuds/bonaqua)



> Sherlock belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
> 
> For a [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19743.html?thread=119873311) on the kink meme.

There are a lot of things that bother John Watson about being an omega. Granted, having a heat every three months has been made exponentially easier by the fact that he now has an alpha, but he still doesn't like having his mind taken over by hormones for a solid three days (more or less). He likes it even less considering that in the week or so leading up to his heat his body has apparently taken having an alpha as permission to go into overdrive.

Simply put, he's producing so much lubrication that it's getting out of hand. Literally. 

He grimaces into the mirror, awkwardly readjusting the nappy. It never feels like it's sitting quite right, though that could be paranoia talking. Two heats into a relationship with Sherlock, now going on his third, he has somehow miraculously managed to keep this a secret. He gives all credit to the excellently timed cases that had Sherlock ignoring him until the urge to mate overcame even that brain. Up until today, he had hopes that this time would be the same, but the case ended unexpectedly quickly and now there's nothing to distract Sherlock.

Heaving a deep sigh, he puts his trousers on and checks to make sure that nothing is out of place before he opens the door. The important thing is to act normal, and normally he’d want some tea right about now. He walks into the kitchen and starts pouring water into the kettle, realizing that the flat is suspiciously silent. Perhaps Lestrade has already called Sherlock out on another case? Could John really be that lucky?

He turns around and walks bang into Sherlock.

Apparently not.

Sherlock catches the kettle before it hits the floor. "Careful," he says with a light, amused smile. There's a predatory look in his pale eyes that makes John back up a step. Sherlock steps forward to make up the space, head tilted slightly. "Hmm, you only have another day before you fully enter your heat," he notes.

"Yes, I know," John says. He's been taking his birth control religiously over the past month. Neither of them are ready for children. He goes to duck by Sherlock and is halted by the hand on his shoulder. Sherlock's nose presses against his neck as the detective takes a deep breath. John's legs go weak at his close proximity and he has to grip the counter to avoid falling. "I'm trying to put the kettle on, Sherlock."

"You smell good," Sherlock murmurs, ignoring him completely. "But there's something... _blocking_ the scent." He sounds strangely intrigued and John's heart sinks straight through the floor and into Mrs Hudson's flat below.

"Tea," he says firmly, trying without success to twist away. On a good day, when John is in full control of his mental abilities, he can beat Sherlock in a fight with no problem. But when it's so close to his heat, when all he wants is for Sherlock to pin him down and take him... His eyes flutter shut and he sucks in a sharp, deep breath when Sherlock's long fingers slide underneath the hem of his jumper.

He's perilously close to touching the nappy.

"Tea!" John desperately wrenches free. He doesn't want Sherlock to see him like that. It's disgusting and he loathes it. He'd take showers every hour if it wouldn't send their water bill through the roof. Even now, he can feel his juices soaking into the nappy, trickling steadily out of his hole. It's uncomfortable and he squirms, realizing too late that Sherlock is watching him closely.

"John," Sherlock says in that peculiar slow drawl of his.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John says with an air of resignation. He's half tempted to tell Sherlock to piss off and make an escape, but with his heat literally around the corner he doesn't want to have to waste time cajoling Sherlock out of a dark mood when it’s finally time.

"Come here."

Oh no. No way. John's not going to make it easy for him. He ignores the command and puts the kettle on, waiting patiently for the water to boil. He's unprepared for the hands that suddenly slide into his trousers. He jumps, tries to yank away, but it's too late. Sherlock's fingers curve around his nappy covered bum and Sherlock lets out a low, thoughtful sound. John stares hard at the stove, his cheeks burning with utter mortification. Why didn't he take the chance to get out of the flat when he had one? Why did he linger for tea? He could be in the pub somewhere, knocking back a pint and having a friendly argument over the state of the football team. Instead he's here, letting Sherlock discover something he never wanted the man to know about.

"Sherlock," he says, and then his throat closes up, preventing him from saying anything else.

Slowly, Sherlock turns him around so that they’re face to face. His eyes have lit up in that way that means he's got a new puzzle to focus on. Without asking permission he unbuttons John's trousers and then grabs the zip, tugging it down. The fabric falls away, revealing the white nappy. John clenches his hands into fists, fighting with the urge to push Sherlock away and make a run for it. The expression on Sherlock's face, however, stops him. For some reason John can't explain, Sherlock doesn't look disgusted or disturbed or even grossed out. He looks fascinated, and he reaches down and touches the nappy in a way that means he's curious.

"It's the day before your heat," he says thoughtfully. "You've never had a problem with incontinence before so it has to have something to do with that. Are you that ready for me, John?"

Spoken in _that_ tone, with Sherlock's voice dropped into the smoky, honeyed purr that makes John feel dizzy, he can only swallow hard and nod.

Sherlock reaches out and grabs his jumper. John allows him to pull it over his head, leaving him wearing only the nappy. It should be mortifying and on some level it is, but the look in Sherlock's eyes prevents him from covering up. His mouth is strangely dry as Sherlock falls to his knees and presses the front of his face to the nappy. Sherlock's breathing has changed, growing heavier, or maybe that's just the pounding in John's ears.

"For me," Sherlock growls suddenly. "Ready to be filled by my cock. I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, John? If I pinned you down and shoved my cock inside of you, made you take every inch until you were bursting and begging me for relief. You're ready for it, aren't you?"

Jesus. This kind of talk shouldn't arouse him but it does. John realizes he's gasping for breath. "Oh God yes," he moans. If he weren't wearing the nappy, his thighs would be drenched by now.

"Let me see. I want to see." Hands are suddenly prying at the fasteners. Sherlock spins John around as the nappy falls away, soaked in a thin liquid. He presses his face against the absorbent material and groans low in his throat. John stares at him over his shoulder, wide eyed, and when Sherlock looks up his pupils are blown dark and he looks almost feral. "John," he growls.

"Sherlock." John wants to say more but he can't; the words get stuck when Sherlock abruptly slides his hands up and pulls John's arse cheeks apart. He grabs onto the counter with a strangled cry as Sherlock leans forward and licks one long stripe up, starting from John's perineum and ending at the top of his arse crack. His knees feel weak. He can't think, can only stand there and whimper, shaking, as Sherlock presses his tongue into John's hole.

"John, you taste so good," he says, lapping with enthusiasm. His tongue wiggles against the muscle, gently urging it to relax, to open wide for the slick invasion. John hunches his shoulders and tries to keep standing when his legs want to fold underneath him. Sherlock is fucking him with his tongue, a preview of what's to come, and oh god it feels so bloody good. For the first time in days, he's entirely clean of fluid, though he's now covered in saliva. He can't even bring himself to care. He moans and thrashes, unable to keep still, thrusting back against the sensation of Sherlock's tongue sliding so deeply inside him that the man's lips are kissing his hole.

"Sherlock, please," he gasps, "I can't... Oh God, please."

In one fluid movement Sherlock rises to his feet. He unsnaps his trousers and guides his cock out, pressing it to the tip of John's hole. "Why were you trying to hide from me, John?" he asks, moving the head of his cock around teasingly.

John whimpers. "I... I hate it," he pants. "How it - oh god - feels. I feel - Sherlock! - dirty and gross, like a child. I can't control it and Iaaaagh..." His sentence trails off into a desperate moan as Sherlock pushes home in one clean sweep, impaling him against the counter. 

"You will never hide anything from me again," Sherlock says in his ear, wrapping one arm around John's stomach to hold him in place. "If your body is ready for me, than I want to know. You are mine, John Watson." He punctuates his statement with a single firm thrust. " _Mine_."

"Yours," John chokes out, breathing heavily. Sweat drips into his eyes and he can hardly focus; he's so full that he can barely remember why he tried to hide this from Sherlock. His heat has definitely begun, day early or not. He hangs his head and angles his hips, thrusting back. "Yours, god yes, just please _fuck me_."

Sherlock obliges with a series of hard, long thrusts that leave John feeling dizzy. It doesn't take long; as soon as Sherlock's hand brushes against his cock John cries out and comes. He'd fall to his knees if it weren't for Sherlock's strong grip. Sherlock grunts and pushes into him more firmly, filling John with his seed. John shudders at the familiar sensation and braces himself as Sherlock leans against him. They'll be tied together for a few minutes and it feels so overwhelmingly blissful that John doesn't want it to end. 

"I still don't like it," he says belatedly, squirming a little.

Sherlock just nips him on the back of the neck and pushes them closer together. It's all the response he needs to give.


End file.
